


Let's Be Alone Together

by Rinbin



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Fall Out Boy Song, M/M, No Spoilers, Self-Hatred, but it ends up ok he accepts the love HE ACTUALLY DESERVES, just those good honest feelings, non-graphic depictions of abuse, this is angst right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 17:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinbin/pseuds/Rinbin
Summary: Ryuji Sakamoto is a resilient boy who everyone lets down until Akira walks into his life. It started as a warm up for a coming-soon chapter fic but then I couldn't stop myself and wrote this to completion because I love my bright and shiny son. He's got some self-hatred to work through but he gets there, don't worry.*listen to the FOB song for the best experience bc once you listen to it you won't be able to un-hear the pegoryu*





	Let's Be Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alone Together](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/294087) by Fall Out Boy. 



> It's a bit stream of consciousness, kinda messy, apologies in advance. Been on a four year writing hiatus but these boys brought out the writer in me esp because *sob* there's so little fic for them. If u want to read it but it's not there, I guess u gotta write it????
> 
> Warning: His dad's an abusive drunk (I'm so sorry to m'boy but I had to) and his team is full of hateful, spiteful shits who don't know the meaning of the word team. Akira is an understanding angel.
> 
> Pls be gentle I am trash but I am sensitive trash thank u

_Cut me off, I lost my track, it’s not my fault I’m a maniac_

The man before him was not a man, that much he knew, no matter how young he was. His jaw ached, where the knuckles that smelled of beer met flesh, but it was better than the bruise that would have found purchase on his mother’s face. He yelled back, talked back, while his mother—strongest he knew—pulled at clothes, grabbed the bandages, locked the coward into rooms. The volume caught the attention, the words caught the anger: a formula he had discovered recently, tried and true, just as tried and true as the nightly binges, the bottles tipping, the fury that unfortunately never just died in the street. He’d take the punches every time if it meant his mother didn’t have to. She was all he had.

 

_It’s not funny, anymore, no it’s not_

It was the right time of night. His mother was strong, so strong, too strong. Had stayed this long for the money that came through the door that could feed him, had endured the cuts and stings and bruises for the early years only for him. They were prepping for war—that’s how it always felt, the way she laid open the first aid kit on the bathroom counter, the way he tried to wear three shirts to lessen the blow in case the fist or knee came for the stomach. They waited, breaths hitched, but the door never opened. Not that night, not three nights later, not three years. They had cried, happy to be free, scared to be on their own. But he knew they’d make it. There was no more abuse to endure, would never be again. He feels foolish for believing that then.

 

_My heart is like a stallion, they love it more when it’s broken_

He’d been powerful once. He remembers the feeling, not for its strength, but for what he could give. If you had a question, he could put his energy into answering it. If you needed help, he was dedicated to solving your problem. They had respected him, not for his power, but for his heart. He was their warrior, their leader, and would never let them down. He had healed himself, all on his own, after he’d been left behind. He’d been running, running, running for years to find what had walked away, and instead found them. He thought they shared the desire to protect each other. He had been wrong.

 

_Do you wanna feel beautiful? Do you wanna?_

They had left him on the gym floor, every single one of them, while he fought back the tears in his eyes. He had held the tears off long enough, but now alone, they threatened to be his second betrayal. He’d been lost. Drifting. A found family after the given came with bitter taste, teammates and a chance to run further than he had ever been, far from the past that nipped at his heels. Thought he had made it, thought he was finally there and then…the other coach, the provoking, his lunge, the return, his body on the ground, the sole of a shoe digging in beneath the knee, the noise first, then the searing pain. He couldn’t get up. Each time he tried, it shot through him like lightning; he was crippled. _Pathetic_ , a voice in his head spat. He slumped there, head hung low, when he opened his eyes and saw his reflection in the gym floor. It was over. He had fucked it up, had gotten what was coming to him, and it was all going to end. For everyone. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to look at himself any longer. He deserved nothing.

 

 _I’m outside the door, invite me in, so we can go back and play pretend_  

He tried to remind them what they once had together. Tried to remind them of the happiness they once shared, tried to defend what he had done, but they were done listening. Nothing he had achieved for them mattered anymore. He had hoped for redemption, had prayed for salvation, but nothing ever came. The words were venom that stung his heart, the whispers so loud he woke up screaming to drown them out. Doc said his leg would never work right again. He didn’t care; he knew it was _him_ that didn’t work right, not just the leg. Yearning for the days before, of light and life and the ground moving quickly beneath him, he wished someone would come for him, then hated himself for wishing it. Solitude. This was his punishment. Everyone left him. Everyone was destined to.

 

 _I’m on deck, yeah, I’m up next_ , _tonight I’m high as a private jet_

He had accepted the labels long ago. Wore them with pride. Rebellious? Fine, blonde hair debut the next day. Obnoxious? Great, a laugh too loud in class. Vulgar? Sure, why the fuck not? Nothing could touch him anymore: he was too far away, floating away. The more they pushed the harder he pushed back. A fire burned beneath his skin and the best part of it was how it burned him. The pain was the drug. The scorn was the fix. It was familiar; this was how he knew to be. Punch him, he could take it, had learned long ago. Let it all out. He was there for them, again, but in a new way. He welcomed the bruises.

 

_I don’t know where you’re going but do you got room for one more troubled soul?_

He had seen the mess of dark hair in the hallway the day before, had heard the whispers immediately. A criminal was coming to school—he had some competition, then, he thought. But seeing the boy, hands in pockets, leaning against the wall, diligently following what had to be the guardian, a face of quiet sorrow and determination, he concluded the boy didn’t seem to be the conniving, erratic assaulter he had heard about. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if the supposed criminal wore labels like badges too, like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t get to the bones and cement there like lead. So when the footsteps were there, when he noticed the figure behind him— _how could he not, shadow of the mess of hair playing on the ground, who else could it have been_ —he didn’t mind. Maybe they could swap strategies.

 

_I don’t know where I’m going but I don’t think I’m coming home_

He knew what the whispers felt like, what ridicule could burn, so he turned around, looking into the gray eyes that refused to break the gaze. Something immediately felt warm, right, solid. _There you are,_ a voice whispered deep inside. Two outcasts standing inches apart, both told to stay far away from the other, and yet they had found each other in all the mess of pain. No words exchanged at first; in those first moments, he knew he’d follow this boy anywhere. Finally, someone he didn’t have to run from. Finally a place he could run to.

 

_And I said, I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead_

It was whirlwind at first. So much safety he felt nearly suffocated. He was used to pain, could predict the barbs and punches and how it would land, but he wasn’t used to a smile. Wasn’t used to seeing someone waiting for him after school, face lighting up like the world does when the sun starts coming up. He felt like he was dying, losing his life and gaining it again all at the same time.

 

_This is the road to ruin, and we’ll start it at the end_

The words came so easy and so fast he could never stop them, but the dark haired boy never seemed to mind. It was fumbling, he was always fumbling, but it was worth it if he could see the smile bloom over the boys face, cheeks pink with care. He had to tell him, always had to tell him like he was bursting, how free he felt, how right it all was, how no place had ever made as much sense as it did with the mysterious boy. The first kiss came as fast but less easy; he had been trying, been thinking for weeks, how to get just everything out there, but he didn’t know how far it went for the other boy. Didn’t know and cared so much that fear gripped his body in a vice every time he wanted to try. He should’ve known that the boy would just know, that the boy would just lean down while he laid on the bed, eyes closed after a sigh—then he felt the lips on his own, eyes suddenly wide with surprise. His cheeks burned like fire, body buzzing like a sparkler. He didn’t know intimacy, didn’t know what gentleness was supposed to be, so afterwards he lightly nudged the boy on the shoulder. Always fumbling, always finding a place to land.

 

_Say yes, let’s be alone together_

Months later he’s found an ease he didn’t think still existed. He kept waiting for the shoe to drop— _on his leg, pressing down down down until he snapped, a piece of himself gone, damaged, not worth anything anymore, not that he ever was—_ but it never came; instead a touch on his shoulder he flinched from, an outstretched arm he fell into, a hand on his back he welcomed. A shelter for the vulgar boy—he didn’t deserve it. Knew he didn’t, everyone had already told him so, but it didn’t seem to matter to the boy with a criminal record. The only thing that mattered was whether he was doing okay, whether he had stopped blaming himself—the answer “yes,” the truth “no,” and the glasses the boy wore must have powers to see through his carefully constructed ruse—whether he was still having the nightmares. Solitude, he discovered, was poison unless it was with the mess of dark hair he had come to adore.

 

_We could stay young forever, scream it from the top of your lungs_

He had started running again. He didn’t think he’d ever move at this speed after what had happened, but the boy had laced up his own shoes and was by his side every morning. Their sunrise routine had grown, mile by mile, until it was like they were speeding through the town absolutely untouchable. Absolutely powerful, incredibly together, and eternally grateful. He shook with excitement and happiness, drunk on love and light and the boy’s smile. It was okay, now, to feel this way. He had learned. It was okay, it was okay, it was okay. He let the boy in, and the boy bloomed inside him, filling up all the dark corners and empty cracks. It was better than okay.

 

_Say yes, let’s be alone together_

Yes. Always yes. Any request the boy had, he’d answer: yes. He’d sew the seams of the world together if it meant he could be with this boy forever. The boy was a constant foundation for him; the only constant besides his mother. For weeks, though, the boy had seemed off. Less composed, more quiet. He wondered if it was time; nothing good lasts forever, especially not for him. How could it? The old doubts seeped in: what had he done to deserve all this beauty? Nothing. He deserved the darkness that gaped in the back of his mind— _fall in, fall in, let it consume you, be nothing once_ more—until one day the boy asked if it could last forever. If they could be alone, be together, forever. If he’d stay with those gray eyes as long as he could. Would he? Yes. Always yes.

 

_We’ll stay young, young, young_

And that’s how it was. They never slowed down, never stopped conquering the world. They ran forever, just together, into the rays of sun that blossomed over the horizon.


End file.
